Then his body twitches. Just a small jerk of his fingers, then another, his throat working as the blood slips further down. My heart lurches as I hold steady, forcing my wrist firmer against his mouth.
A low whimper escapes him and it curls through me in ways I shouldn’t let it.
His lips part wider, instinct dragging him further into the act, and his tongue flicks against my skin. The first lick is weak, barely there, but then he moans softly as the blood works through his system, giving him more energy. His mouth sealstighter around the wound, drawing it deeper, sucking at me with small, desperate pulls.
I should feel nothing but revulsion. This is survival, not intimacy, afterall, but the sounds he makes take me by surprise. The groans rumbling low in his chest and the broken gasps between each suck drag heat straight to my core. I shift in the grass, uneasy, my breath catching hard as another whimper escapes him, desperate and needy.
My body burns as I force myself to stare up at the moon instead of the man feeding from me, but it doesn’t stop the shiver racing up my spine. It doesn’t stop the way every flick of his tongue sends a pulse of desire spiraling deep into my core.
Unconscious and half-dead, he shouldn’t affect me like this. Yet every sound he makes tears right through me, sharp with want I don’t want to acknowledge.
“It’s just your blood making him feel this way,” I mutter to myself.
It only enhances what the person already feels,my mind whispers back.
His body jerks again, drawing my attention back to him, watching his hand drift toward my wrist. His fingers curl tightly around my it, anchoring me to him as though the thought of losing the blood terrifies him even in unconsciousness. With a growing strength that surprises me, he presses my skin firmly against his mouth. The moan that follows is muffled against me, but it vibrates through my bones and makes my pulse stutter wildly in my throat.
“Elias,” I whisper under my breath, though I know he can’t hear me. His mind is still somewhere far from this field, but instinct drives him to seek out more.
Then he tugs at my arm, the pull sudden and hard. My balance snaps beneath me and I tumble forward, colliding with the hard plane of his chest. His body is hot beneath me, slickwith blood and sweat, but beneath that mess are the hard planes of muscle and the warmth seeping back into his body.
My breasts press against him through the thin barrier of my shirt, and the friction is instant, tightening my nipples to aching peaks. They drag against him with every shallow rise and fall of his chest, alongside every desperate breath I try to force into my lungs.
Heat unfurls low in my belly, startling in its ferocity, and I want to shove it away. I need to bury it deep down and never acknowledge it again, but his moans won’t let me. Each one spills from his throat with a soft need that claws at my resolve. His hand is still tight on my wrist, his mouth wet and hot against the wound he refuses to release, and the sensation has me trembling with fury at myself for how much I feel it.
I close my eyes tightly, trying to shut out the way my body betrays me, but it’s impossible when every inhale brushes my breasts harder against him and when every flick of his tongue against my skin sends another shiver darting up my spine.
This somehow feels more dangerous than having those three SUVs and swarms of guards facing us.
His grip shifts suddenly, my breath catching as his hands slide down to my waist. The weight of them is unsteady and trembling, but the intent is clear as he drags me onto him until I straddle his hips. The movement knocks another rush of air from my lungs, my thighs braced against the hard muscle of his frame.
And then I feel it.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper to the night, praying I’m the only one who will remember this moment.
The rigid length of his erection presses up against me, straining through his pants, large and undeniable even beneath the layers between us. It grinds into the softest part of me, right against my core, through the thin barrier of my white cottonshorts that are spattered with blood. The contact is so sharp and startling that a gasp slips from me, my body arching instinctively against him even as my mind flares with panic.
This is wrong. So wrong.
I keep my wrist pressed to his mouth, blood still trickling slowly into him despite the wound beginning to stitch together, and wonder if he’s had enough yet. I should pull away and check, but a traitorous part of me doesn’t want to. A darker, hungrier part clenches down inside me at the drag of his hips grinding upward and the needy way he moans into my flesh–as if the taste of me will never be enough.
I hate the way it feels good.
I hate the way my nipples harden further and the ache curls lower until it throbs between my legs.
The internal battle inside me sharpens to a scream, my own voice clawing against itself.Don’t let this matter. Don’t let this be anything but survival.But my body doesn’t care…it has needs I can’t quell with fury alone, needs that don’t give a damn about blood or betrayal.
Think about the red flags,I chant in my head, desperate and frantic to quell the desire.Think about everything they’ve done.
His tongue flicks over my skin again as his hips buck once more and the thoughts splinter.
I know I’m strong enough that if I truly wanted to, I could have stopped this. I could have kept his hands pinned to the dirt and could have refused to let him drag me on top of him like this.
But I didn’t.
The realization curdles in my stomach, bitter and hot, even as another pulse of desire thuds low in my body. I’m disgusted with myself for the way it coils tighter each time his hips press against me. I draw in a ragged breath, fury and shame tangling inside me, and steel myself to pull away–to tear my wrist freefrom his mouth and to put distance between us before this goes any further.
His eyes snap open and the movement jolts me. I stop breathing all together as dark blue orbs pin me to the spot with the unexpected desire reflecting back at me. My breath catches, the sound barely a gasp, as the heat I’ve been drowning in suddenly finds its mirror in him. The same hunger, the same sharp edge of need I’ve been fighting pulses there in his gaze, and it holds me like a hand closing around my throat.
